By, yours truly.
Your nightmares are real, they are coming for you.
The light that kept them at bay has faded away. Shrieking to be set free, they pound against your skull.
They are already inside, you can't run or hide. They follow you wherever you go. Your feet slap the pavement as you sprint, shoes pounding as hard and fast as your heart.
Panic replaces the blood in your veins, screams of terror echo behind you, chasing you, hunting you.
Your nightmares are real. They are coming for you.
Your tears flow like a river of acid, bile rising up to choke you.
Fear. It grips your mind, sinking it's claws in further with every passing instant. It's shadow looms overhead, it's catching up to you.
You cower under the threat of your impending doom. This is your end.
Your nightmares are real. They are coming for you.
Bone chilling, cold as death. It whispers in our ears, taunting us. A sinking feeling, dragging you down like the titanic.
The body rotting under your floorboards. the blood seeping through the roof and trickling down the walls disappears.
But was it ever really there in the first place, or was it your imagination playing with you? Our minds twisting and bending us, shaking us, breaking us, then rebuilding to do it again.
That is fear.
